Guitar Girl
by fictiouswrighter
Summary: My name is Lily Evans. I’m nineteen years old, and I’m being sued for 5,000,000 by my former record company..." Based off of Guitar Girl by Sarra Manning LE/JP at times T for language. The songs are my own, so please don't steal them.
1. Prologue:Once in Birmingham

**A/N: I know I shouldn't be starting another fanfic, but this is based on _Guitar Girl_ by Sarra Manning, so I have the plot and everything. If you read the book, you'll realize that a _lot_ of this chapter, well prologue, is word for word from the book, but that's because it's setting the scene for the rest of the story. But through out this story there will be parts taken exactally from the original book. I figure if I use the plot and re-read the book chapter of it for every chapter of this I'd actually finish a story! there should be 19 chapters plus the pro and epi (aka prologue and epilogue) I hope you enjoy the fic. R&R please!!**

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**Disclaimer: I don't own the characters you recognise, the personalities of the characters if you recognize them, or the plot. Wow, I'm an unfortunate bitch aren't I?**

_**Guitar Girl**_

_**Prologue**_

Stacks upon stacks of parchment were in front of me, all neatly organized and filed. One file for every month I was in The Hormones. It's really odd, seeing an entire year of your life measured out in press cuttings, legal documents, and receipts from places like restaurants, hotels, and instrument shops.

I blindly reached for the closest folder, only to have a picture fall into my lap. I saw the six of us staring arrogantly because staring was uncool. It was one on the few Muggle photos we had of us. My hair had been died cherry red then, verses its natural reddish-orange. I looked much younger then. I was wearing jeans and a green halter top, a tiger lily pinned in my hair. Flowers, lilies especially, used to be my trademark, my thing. When we did gigs, fans would throw flower petals at me. Once in Birmingham, as I was walking off stage, I skidded on a big wet clump of petal mulch and slid right into the audience. James had to run to the lip of the stage and haul me out, while Sirius and Chrys nearly peed themselves laughing.

I looked to the photo again. Chrys, short for Chrysanthemum, was next to me, and arm slung around my shoulder indifferently. She's all hipbones with a platinum blond attitude, a diamond navel piercing gleaming in the light of the flash. I remember the waistline of Chrys' black trousers slowly inching down in between shots. "You've gotta show a bit of flesh," she told me, laughing, when I said you could see her knickers. There's Sirius, with his dark hair covering his gray eyes, looking seductive, as always. He's wearing his biker boots with his black skinny jeans and a purple fitted shirt. He claimed the shirt was to prove he was a 'man' not a 'queer' at the time. His flavour of the show probably didn't care though, as long as it would come off.

Then there's Rose, off to the side of the shot. Short, spiky hair that Chrys had bullied her into dyeing black, and a bright red bra visible through the thin white cotton of her shirt, which the stylist had bullied her into wearing, saying she'd look sexy. It didn't work. Rose could be cute on a good day, but never sexy. Remus was behind her. He always had to be in the back since he had scars littering his face and body. Remus had his shoulder length hair tied back, like always. I hear a rumour the other day that Remus had shaved his hair off, but that's like taking the peanut butter away from a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It's just not going to've happened.

And finally, there's James on my left, looking every bit of the rock star. He's wearing a Hawaiian shirt he found second-hand, hands in the pockets of his trousers, his shoulders hunched slightly to work the tortured-artist thing. His black hair is the usual mop-top riot style. He'd been experimenting with a mix of Brylcreem and coconut wax that month to get his hair to the desired level of messiness. Now, every time the scent of coconut reaches me, I think of James glooping it through his hair and begging Chrys until she pulled her fingers through his hair, her complaining of greasing up her fingers all the while. I'm starting to wish I hadn't looked at the photo; it's making me queasy thinking about it. My stomach's knotting and protesting against the memories of happier times. I rubbed my hand across it, trying to massage it and get it to behave.

I hear a polite cough from behind me. Apparently Lachlan, my lawyer, came back from the stationary cupboard where he'd been searching for me a notebook, since he figures a roll of parchment wouldn't be a smart thing to use, since Muggles will probably see it. He placed the composition book in front of me with a wide variety of pens, ink, and quills. And it wasn't the cheap pens like bics; it was the fancy felt tip ones. And the quills weren't the cheep owl quills; they were the expensive phoenix and miniature peacock quills. No wonder he charges so much. He patted me on the shoulder, gingerly.

"Nothing to worry about Lily," he assured me. "Just write everything down."

"Everything? I don't think I can remember that much," I sigh.

"These should jog your memory," Lachlan pointed out, gesturing to the parchment. "But you need to be thorough. Even little incidents and conversations that seem small and trivial might help your case."

I pulled a face and unwillingly nodded. I know that I'm being very difficult, but the last few months have been spent in denial. Now I'm going to have to relive all the betrayal and angst again. Not fair.

"Okay, I'll get busy with parchment and quill," I told Lachlan, trying to sound light and carefree.

"Good girl," he said, affectionately. "Don't skip bits, though. I'll be in my office if you need anything."

With another pat on my shoulder, he was gone. I opened the composition book and looked at the white paper with the blue and red lines crossing it. Resigned, I dipped my quill into ink and began to write:

_My name is Lily Evans. I'm nineteen years old, and I'm being sued for £5,000,000 by my former record company..._


	2. Chapter 1:The Hormones

**(A/N) Chapter 1!! Yeah! So, yeah. Here's chapter 1 and I hope you enjoy it. What to say... what to say. Um... I'm still visiting Zade-Marie in America, and she just got her permit, so Americans, it's officially safe to walk in the middle of the street. (ZM: If you don't like my driving, stay off the sidewalk!) lol. Love you Zade-Marie!!**

**(Dedication) To Rebecca, my therapist, for giving me a reason to finish this chapter today. **

**(Disclaimer) Really, would the writer of Harry Potter or Guitar Girl have to go to a shrink? (no offence Rebecca) I think not! So JK Rowling and Sarra Manning own the characters and plot-line/story respectfully. I will enjoy living in the world where I own James Potter (smiles with pleasure and gets glassy look in eyes)**

_**Guitar Girl**___

_**Chapter one –The Hormones**_

Fame, I always thought, happened to other people. When I was little, I just wanted to own a quaint little café. I'd sit around all day, drinking mango smoothies, watching everybody relax and use their laptops. Once I found out I was a witch, I wanted to be a Healer and save everybody. But, instead of either of those, I formed a band and became a rock'n'roll star.

If I've learned anything (aside from never signing _anything_ without a lawyer present and sulky-faced boys will break your heart in a beat of theirs), it's that life takes funny turns when you're not looking. That Thursday afternoon was like every other Thursday afternoon. It was raining, and Chrys, Rose, and I had a double free period, that or we were skipping Transfiguration because Chrys hadn't done her homework. We were hanging out in the Head's Common Room, since I was Head Girl and there was a huge fireplace in there. Anyways, Chrys was copying my Transfiguration essay when she found this stupid poem I'd written about James Potter. So then she kept singing, "I wanna be the highlight of your day" (I never said it was good) over and over in a high-pitched voice, and it was so annoying but catchy that the three of us were humming the tune for the rest of the week. That's how it started.

I know it was me who decided that we should form a band. I think I even said, "Hey, we should form a band." But we were always coming up with these ridiculous schemes to get a bit of respect. Not even respect, just to be _noticed_ by someone, seeing as James gave up on me this year. We just want to be noticed by _anyone_. Chrys, at least, has a reputation – but only because she's snogged even more boys than Kalli Kalhoon. Kalli got away with it because she was blond and popular. Chrys was blond, but only because of monthly applications of peroxide, and she wasn't popular, so it was alright for somebody to scrawl _Chrys is a ho_ in the bathroom stalls and mirrors. Me and Rose were completely anonymous; always picked last as partners. The only thing I was known for was being the only girl, 4th year and up, that didn't have to wear a bra. So after a sit-down protest against using animal's for Transfiguration and Potions (which nobody attended) and performing an experimental art piece at supper one day (which resulted in detention and letters home), being in a band seemed like a logical progression.

I already had a guitar. It was one of those Christmas presents that you always sulk about and then get when you get it, you never use it. The reason the guitar was never used was because I realized it would wreck my nails strumming. I dragged my guitar out from under my bed, promptly cut my nail as short as they could get, and put on my favourite music on. I listened to it over and over until I could figure out where to put my fingers on the fret boards and play three chords.

Three chords are all you really needed anyways. Em- my heroin, my icon, everyone I'd ever wanted to be- once wrote this piece for one of the music papers about how there should be this girl revolution with girls starting bands in their bedrooms and taking over the world. They'd printed her scribbled diagrams of lines and dots to illustrate three chords, and she'd scrawled underneath: _Now you can play the guitar_. It was our call to arms. Chrys 'borrowed' her brother's bass guitar and mastered one bass line, which we figured would do. Then we persuaded Rose to blow her baby-sitting money on a simple drum kit. And then the evenings that were usually spent studying for 

NEWTs and working on homework then became time for our band to practice and write songs in the Room of Requirements, which we had weaseled the location of out of the Marauders.

The only problem was we had no idea what to write songs about. Most songs are about love, but-aside from Chrys who was the queen of three-day relationships-Rose and I had barely even spoken to a boy. Em said you should always write about what you know. That worked for her because she'd been a stripper and had and hitch-hiked across Great Britton after she got out of Hogwarts. I was just boring Lily Evans, flat chested and never been kissed. Anyways, I wrote about what I knew. I wrote about how boys never liked you for you, were always in for a chase, never actually fancied you when you fancied them, how my summer job was slowly sucking my soul out, how there was no problem chocolate couldn't fix. Let me just put it this way, our songs sounded like nothing I'd ever heard before.

Five weeks after that free period in the Heads Common Room, we were a proper band. And we all pretended it was because we were going to be a part of the girl revolution, but we all knew the truth was that the band was a desperate attempt to seem interesting. We bullied Tasha McAllister, from sixth year, to let us play at her Sweet Sixteen during winter holidays because it was the only way she'd be sure three people would show up.

Months later, everybodyclaimed that they'd been there, at our first ever gig. People at school who would pass us like we were made of air, and boys we'd loved passionately but didn't know we existed, even people who really should've known better – like journalists – all claimed to have attended. They were liars. Because the very first gig in Tasha McAllister's lounge never even made it into our record company biography – I mean, hello! Can you say uncool! It still managed to make it into rock history books, though. There were ten people there (including the two boys that Chrys had met at the Garage on the way and invited because everyone knew that Tasha McAllister's party was going to be geek central, and she wanted to guarantee a bit of boy action). We sang "Happy Birthday" and had time for one other song, "Take-Out" ('You're eating at my heart with chopsticks/Stop it now, you're killing me/You're always telling me what to do/You're the one who busted my knee') before Mrs. McAlister hustled us into the dining room for Jell-O and ice cream. Godric, that party _really_ was geek central!

Chrys had made us these freakish outfits out of this cheap silver material that had little red stars printed on it. You know that bit in _The Sound of Music_ where the Con Trapp children roam around the streets of Salzburg wearing naff clothes that used to be curtains? We looked even more stupid than them. My dress was scratchy and stiff, and when I sat down, it made this squeaking noise against the vinyl chair, which sounded like I'd passed gas. As we sat there, nursing bowls of supermarket brand strawberry ice cream and improperly set Jell-O, one of the boys from the Garage paused from exchanging lingering eye contact with Chrys to say to me, "So, like, what's your band called?"

The three of us looked at one another. I blushed right to the roots of my plain reddish-orange hair. Partly because a boy was actually talking to me and not asking me out, but mostly because we'd been so busy pretending that we were a proper band that we'd completely forgotten to think of a name.

"Um, well, we don't..." I started to mumble, but Chrys fixed me with one of her "I'm in there, don't do anything to ruin it for me" glares and said smoothly, "We're called The Hormones because Lily here is a slave to hers."

I narrowed my eyes but decided to play along. "Yeah, pesky hormones," I muttered and the Garage boy seemed satisfied.

"Cool," he commented. "You were cool. So, do you want to come into the garden with me?" he added to Chrys, and the two of them disappeared.

.-.

During Easter holidays, I bumped into one of the boys from the garage as I stocked shelves at work. Instead of pretending he didn't know me; he was all smiles and conversation. His brother put on gigs at the local community centre and did we want to play?

People in groups always pretend that they've had to suffer for their art, but we never did. Not at first, anyway. And right then, as I clutched cans of baked beans and beamed at the garage boy, anything seemed possible, even getting through a whole thirty minutes on stage at the local community centre.

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**_(A/N/Disclaimer 2) I do own the song Take-Out and the lyrics 'You're eating at my heart with chopsticks/Stop it now, you're killing me/You're always telling me what to do/You're the one who busted my knee'. I wrote that song. Please don't use the lyrics. If you want, I can probably post them somewhere and give you lot a link if you want me to. Out of curriosity, the songs that The Hormones write/sing will be my own songs, so, if I post them somewhere, I might find a way to creat a website for free so I can let you read my songs in full. Hope you liked this chapter. Review if you want to, I'll post soon if you review._**

**_Luvs,  
Gwen_**

**_fictiouswrighter_**


	3. Chapter 2 : One in the Same

_**(A/N:) So, if you read the original version of chapter one, you need to go back and reread the last little section. It's been changed because I got some timing off. **_

**_(Dedication:) this is dedicated to... people. Yeah. This is dedicated to people. In all actuallity, this is dedicated to my cousin Chancy, who's going throught a real hard time. Even though he doesn't know I write and even though he doesn't read fanfiction, I'm still dedicating this to him._**

**_(Disclaimer:) If I didn't own this last time, what makes you think I'm going to own it this time around?_**

_**Guitar Girl**_

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_**Chapter 2 – One in the Same**_

The day before our first official gig, Chrys nagged me to put a bright red rinse in my hair and told me to wear something more exciting than jeans, but I ignored her. I was too busy trying to write a rousing, shouty song to finish our set with. It was about dying everything black. In the end, Chrys turned up on my doorstep with a box of Colour Creation's Fly Dye in Ultra Cherry and dragged me into the bathroom, where she charmed the door locked with a spell she'd made up. I, reluctantly, let her massacre my reddish-orange hair, while Petunia, my older sister, banged on the door.

"What are you doing in there, Freak?" she whined. "I have to shower and get ready for Verny and my date tonight. If you don't let me in, I'm going to tell on you!"

We very reluctantly opened the door and she caught sight of my abnormally bright cherry red hair, she yelped excitedly and then went and snitched on me to my parents. They were so happy I was finally showing a bit of normal teen rebellion that Dad went and got his stupid digital camera out so he could 'record this moment in history.' And when Chrys informed my parents that we were in a band (I only tell them the finer points of my life on a strict need-to-know basis. I'm a witch for all sakes, the tried to get me to explain to them how wands work when I was 11, I gave up on letting them know things they'd ask me to explain then and there), they got all misty-eyed and started reminiscing about their honeymoon at the Isle of Wight festival. I'll probably moan about my parents in greater detail later, but right then their crunchy granola-sponsored trip down memory lane made me irritable and sulky for the rest of the day.

.-.

I only started to freak out in the dressing room just before we went onstage. I'd decided to wear my work overalls as this cool ironic statement, but they were sticking to my fishnets in a very unflattering way. I couldn't help but wonder if people would just think that I hadn't had time to change after work.

"I look like a dork, don't I?" I questioned for the forty-second time, but Chrys was back combing her hair and Rose was muttering about picturing the audience naked. I could taste the fear in my throat. It was a metallic, bitter tang that wouldn't budge, no matter how much water I gulped down, or what I did. I felt like I was about to go naked into battle.

But once I'd actually gotten on stage, it was too late to feel frightened. In actual fact, the warm glow of the spotlights felt comforting and safe, and it wasn't as if I could actually see anybody's faces. It was like I was back in my bedroom playing, but the lighting was much, much better. Plus there were shouts of encouragement and applause. For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere. And that somewhere was onstage.

Then my feet that, previously, had been rooted to the floor started to move. Next thing I knew I was in a defiant rock chick position. I had one leg up on the monitor, my head was flung back, 

and my hips were shaking in a definite 'come hither' way, while I poured out all those words that had been stuck inside me for so long...

"This is a song about something I read in the paper about how a school got their school swords stolen," I suddenly announced, like I'd been working a room since I was knee-high to a mic-stand. "It's called 'School Swords.' One, two... One, two, three, four!" Chrys was looking at me like I'd completely lost it, but she was shaking her head and laughing. All the while I could feel the power thrumming through me, because I could make these notes come out of my guitar and I could make people listen to the stories that came from inside my head.

After we were done, and we were off stage, I didn't know what to do with myself. All the adrenaline that kicked in when I went onstage was still whooshing around inside my body. I paced around the tiny dressing room because it was such a kick to actually have a dressing room to pace around in – but the Chrys burst in, her usual cool abandoned. "There are people out there that want to talk to us!" She announced. "Stuck-up people who would usually not even look at us as we passed them. You coming, Lils?" But I was already out the door and trying to change my excited skipping to a casual saunter.

"You were awesome!"

"I loved the set!"

"When are you playing next?"

"Oh my gosh! You're in my NEWT level Muggle Studies!"

I was surrounded by ever-moving faces all talking to me, and I realized that this must be like if you're popular. This is what it's like if you're Kalli Kalhoon or Traci Chancel or all the other popular girls that fit in.

Chrys came up behind me and wrapped a hot, sticky arm around my waist, and we talked to people who were actually interested in us and listened to us, all the while pretending that we did this kind of thing every day. The last admirer (note to self" we had admirers!) eventually trailed away, I nudged Chrys with my hip. "Being in a band is like getting a date with someone popular. It makes us über awesome and cool!" I screamed into her ear.

She smiled and screamed back, "And did you notice how they all looked like us?"

"Except they didn't, because we-"

"Because we rock!"

We paused, wondering how much we actually did rock, when Rose came up to us white-faced and shaking.

"I'm never doing that again," she shudder. "Everyone was staring at us and stuff! Ugh!"

"What did you expect? For them to close their eyes and turn the other way as we played?" Chrys asked, laughing at Rose.

"I hadn't thought about that part."

"Whatever happened to picturing them naked?" I questioned, squeezing her hand reassuringly.

"I was too busy not throwing up to do that," Rose said, as I noticed the bit of green mixed into her otherwise white complexion at the time. Chrys snorted and began to explain about our admirers and tell her how we were the new queens of the scene.

I couldn't pay attention to her though, because I was distracted. I was distracted by a boy. And that boy was staring at me like I was an all-you-can-eat sweets buffet. He wasn't even making a poor attempt at hiding the fact. He was out right staring. But I supposed I was going to have to get used to this kind of attention.

What would Em do in this situation?

I sidled over to him, and I got nearer I realized that apart from the unnerving starey thing, he was kind-of cute. Okay, he was downright hot. Tall and lanky, but managing to bypass weedy. Dark, wild hair, and a T-shirt that would have looked like Hello Kitty if Hello Kitty had devil horns and a bloody moustache, and familiar hazel eyes. He looked familiar, but I couldn't figure out where he was from or who he looked like. He didn't stop looking as I closed the gap between the two of us. He just raised his eyebrows and waited for me to say something.

"Are you going to stare at me all night, or are you going to buy me a drink?" My opening line was a nice blend of confrontation and flirtiness, I thought. I smiled mysteriously at him and wondered where I'd gotten the stones to be so... _sultry_.

"I'm going to stare," he replied, staring down his perfect nose at me.

"Oh." But the thing was, now that he'd confronted me about confronting him I couldn't just walk off. "Did you like our set?"

Familiar-starey-boy considered the question for a moment or two. "Your songs are immature. You can't play your guitar to save your life. You're drummer's shambles. As for you bass player, my best friend's gran could do better and she's Pureblood and doesn't believe in guitars. Oh, and she's paralyzed down the right side because of the bad repercussion to a spell."

I stood there like a mentally challenged goldfish, opening and closing my mouth in shock. That's when I should've realized who he was, then and there. But instead I was racking my brain for a devastatingly brutal comeback that was snappy too. But Chrys, who must've been listening to his snark for a while, beat me to it.

"Well, screw you then, sad boy," she snarled. "I saw you gapping at Lily all through the set. If you think bashing our band is going to send her running to you, then you're terribly wrong. Apparently you're even stupider than you look."

"Yeah," I added, all brave and blustery not that my best friend had appeared.

The boy looked unimpressed. "You're going to have to get used to constructive criticism if you're serious about your, um, group," he said smirking again.

How could I have ever thought he was hot, let alone cute? "We _are_ serious. And there's a difference between constructive criticism and downright bashing," I said witheringly.

"I bet you thought you'd get loads of little groupies, didn't you?" he continued, acting like I never said anything. "And that you'd be the heroines of Gryffindor tower tomorrow."

Chrys had given up any attempt to speak, but if the way she kept clenching and unclenching her fists, she was loosing any fight to keep from inflicting bodily harm.

"Look, if you think you know anything about us-" I began angrily, but the jerk was still talking.

"I know you need a decent guitarist and a drummer who's not afraid to beat the crap out of his kit." He turned to Rose, who'd wandered over to see what was going on. "No offense."

"None taken. I suck," she agreed happily. Chrys and I glared at her, beyond furious.

"Rose," Chrys said, warningly.

"I'm James, by the way," said the boy. That's when it hit me.

"And we're _so_ not interested," Chrys hissed.

"James. As in James fucking Potter?!" I yelled, finally realizing where I knew him from.

"One in the same, Lils. Now let's get out of here, before I loose control and magic him to hell," Chrys said.

All my adrenaline had fizzled away after Potter's 'pep talk' was done, but the little that was left hit the bottom of my stomach acidly as I realized who he was. I turned to walk away, but Potter grabbed my arm. I looked at his hand like it was a horribly brewed potion that was icky, gloopy, and radioactive.

"You need me," he simply said.

I rolled my eyes. "Look, I can get better at playing guitar, but you _still_ really need to work on your social skills," I snapped back. Hell yeah. I could still cut that boy's ego down to size. Eventually.

Potter's mouth twisted at the corners in a faint approximation of a smile. "Who says I was talking about your guitar playing?" he murmured in a low voice so only I could hear. And while I was trying to figure out what he meant by _that_, he came out with something so audacious that Chrys and I could only stand there and blink.

"Me and my mates Sirius and Remus will come to your next rehearsal. We'll show you how good you can sound," Potter said, as if it was a foregone conclusion rather than a suggestion.

I looked at Chrys expectantly for the "Drop dead, creep" retort that she was probably working on, but she pulled a face and shrugged. I turned back to Potter, who raised an eyebrow – and I just knew that he still practiced that move in his mirror.

"I would tell you to give me your number so I could call you, but one I wouldn't call you and two, you're Pureblood so you don't have a phone," I retorted, since I'd lost Chrys' aid. After seven years of going to school and having him bug the crap out of me, I knew having him joining the band and spending quality time with us didn't really seem like a viable option.

"Just find me in the Common Room or the Heads Common Room, Evans, let us know and give us a minute or so and we'll be ready," he smirked.

"Or maybe I'll just pay someone to beat your arse," I continued under my breath. He suddenly looked up and gave me his patented James Potter smile that was blinding and illuminated his whole face, and I knew he had heard me.

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**_(A/N2:) So this is the chapter that takes a major turn away from the book that this is based off of. Oh well, that was the plan so it's all good. _**

**_Luvs,  
Gwen_**

**_fictiouswrighter_**


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